The Temporal

by CJ Martín

“I suspect, Sam, that they have human allies.”

  “In that case, our job of spotting the bomber just became much harder. Now anyone who walks into that building is a suspect.”

  They found an old hotel a block away. Suteko pulled the book from her backpack to study while Sam settled into the bed. The number of hours he needed to sleep had greatly diminished, but when he became sleepy, he was intensely sleepy and became so quickly. It was a little after midnight when his eyes would no longer stay open.

  Chapter 23

  NEW ORLEANS

  Sam awoke a little before seven in the morning. Suteko was gone, but she had left a note saying she was off buying supplies and that he should stay there. She showed up shortly thereafter with two large cups of coffee and a bag of donuts, bagels, and waffles.

  “I didn’t know what you would want for breakfast, so I brought a few choices.”

  “Thanks,” he said, grabbing a bagel. “Did you check out the location this morning?”

  “Yes,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing’s changed, but we need to go. The building will open at eight—thirty minutes from now. It won’t take someone experienced very long to plant a bomb.”

  The two seated themselves in the coffee shop to watch for any activity across the street. They had seen only two people turn into the building. Both times, Sam or Suteko had walked outside to investigate and saw someone entering one of the locked rooms. Both individuals had clearly been tenants and not the bomber.

  Sam was up ordering a cup of black coffee when he saw someone walking across the street carrying a large bag with some department store logo on it. Even before the man turned into the old theater, he knew that was the bomber. Sam ran back to Suteko’s table before his coffee was ready. “It’s him.”

  “Who? No one has entered…”

  “Watch—that man will enter. He is the one.”

  “How do you know?” she said as they both began to rush toward the door.

  Sam knew it was his gift. He could tell the man had been around and influenced by the Nephloc. The man was human, but it was clear to Sam that this was their guy. The man, wearing round, antique-style glasses, looked to be in his sixties. He walked slumped over and with his head down, but even at that distance, Sam could see the evil intent in his eyes, the result of having come into contact with the Nephloc.

  “He was carrying a large bag that seemed heavy, and I think I’ve seen him in my dreams.” Remembering the old man’s warning, he didn’t go into detail about why he was able to sense the Nephloc’s presence. “It’s him. Let’s go.”

  But before they could, a voice growled in front of them, blocking the exit. “Stop where you are, Samuel Williams.”

  They had been too engrossed in discovering the bomber. They had forgotten to watch for Agent Cobbs. He had found them and while it wasn’t in sight, he was gripping his service pistol hidden in his coat pocket. His other hand held up his credentials. They were the only customers, but the barista meekly retreated to a back room.

  “You too, lady, whatever your real name is. Hands behind your back and on your knees. And lady, if you disappear, I’ll shoot your friend here.” Sam gave Suteko a puzzled look and then quickly obeyed the agent’s commands. “Being deported to Japanese justice is one thing, but you,” he pointed to Sam. “Assaulting a police officer is quite another. We don’t take too kindly to that. Get on the ground. NOW!”

  Cobbs approached them with his gun now drawn. Sam could see two plainclothes officers waiting outside flashing their credentials at passersby and warning them to stay clear.

  “You are making a mistake. There’s a bomb. We just saw the man entering the building across the street to plant the bomb.”

  “Sure there is. I suppose you brought the bomb from your checked luggage?”

  Sam realized Agent Cobbs would never believe them.

  “No,” Sam said with a voice trying to imagine how a terrorist might sound. “We… we are part of a terrorist cell. We were ordered here to set the bombs. Others brought the explosives. We haven’t any time! You must stop it.”

  Suteko looked at Sam and nodded her approval.

  “If you set the bombs, why do you want to stop them?” Cobb’s grin that had oozed superiority quickly switched to a grimace.

  Seeing Sam’s blank stare, Suteko spoke up. “The end plan was for us to escape. We are not doing that right now. I don’t want to die when the bomb goes off.”

  “All right you son-of-a-bitch, if you are lying—so help me God.” He leaned down, grabbed Sam’s arms, and cuffed them behind his back. “Lead me to your bomb.”

  Sam nodded but looked at Suteko.

  “Remember, I have a gun,” Agent Cobbs said and nudged him toward the door. “You,” he said, pointing at Suteko, “stay here with these two gentlemen. And remember if you disappear, I have your friend and these two officers aren’t fast enough to stop me from hurting him.” The two policemen entered and after flipping the open sign on the door to read “closed,” one of them motioned for Suteko to sit.

  Heading to the door, Sam tried to relax enough to hear the voices. He had become fairly proficient at it, but in the present extreme situation, he was failing completely. He had to guess: the desk or the stairwell—or was it there at all? Was the man he saw really the terrorist? He had been so sure, but now nothing seemed knowable. Just before stepping out, he turned back and asked, “The bomb, Suteko—where is it?”

  “It is under the stairwell,” Suteko said, listening to the echoes. “Be careful. There is an armed man in there.”

  Sam nodded as he turned to face a bomb in front of him; behind him was a federal officer holding a gun. Sam took a deep breath and then led Cobbs to the crosswalk.

  “Mr. Williams, you will go first and tell your goon to lower his weapon. Remember I have a weapon at your head and despite all this friendly chit-chat, I’m not in a good mood.”

  “The gunman doesn’t know me. He will shoot me if I go in first.”

  “You’re smart. You’ll think of something.” He nudged Sam forward. “Cross the street.”

  McGregor had been too busy setting up the device to notice the commotion across the street. He screamed as Sam was pushed through the door followed by an agent with a gun. McGregor grabbed the SIG P226 the woman had given him and let off three shots before the two intruders could take shelter behind the desk.

  McGregor had a secret gun fetish. He had always dreamed of holding a smoking gun, imagining the smell and the pose to be something heroic.

  Thankfully for Sam, dreaming was all the experience he’d had. The three bullets lodged deep into the door frame.

  Through the metal legs of the desk, Sam could see two canisters near a tiny mechanical device. The whole thing, canisters and all, could be held in two hands. On its side was an LED clock indicating the bomb was to go off in thirty-six hours.

  Suddenly the 36:00:00 changed to 00:00:60 and a countdown began. McGregor had activated the panic button.

  Grabbing a vase on the nearby table, Cobbs let it fly across the room, shattering against the ceramic tile. McGregor turned in the direction of the crash and let off another shot. He was about to pull the trigger another time when Cobbs fired three rounds. McGregor crumbled to the floor.

  But the countdown continued. Forty-four seconds…

  Cobbs grabbed Sam and shoved him toward the bomb. Sam toppled over without the full use of his hands which were still cuffed behind his back. His face met the hard dirty tile floor.

  Thirty-eight seconds...

  “Disarm it—now!”

  “I can’t. I swear. This isn’t my bomb. We came here to stop the bomber! I can’t,” Sam shouted, struggling to lift himself off the floor with his arms bound by handcuffs.

  The terrorist had done a job. He had been in the process of bolting the device down. Although he only had one bolt in place, removing the bolt and finding a place for a safe explosion wasn’t an option. The bomb wasn’t about to move and Cobbs was no bomb guy.


  Twenty-five seconds...

  “Move it!” Cobbs said as one hand grabbed Sam’s arm and yanked him to his feet.

  Sam and Cobbs ran out the door and back into the street yelling for people to evacuate.

  Sixteen seconds...

  Screams. It’s a bomb! A mother was frantically searching for her child.

  Sam’s shoulders bobbled back and forth with his hands still restrained behind. He ran to Suteko shaking his head. “The bomb... it is going to go off.”

  Just as he finished speaking—as if on cue—a bright light sparked out of the old theater. It seemed incredibly bright, but only for a moment. The flame withdrew as quickly as it appeared.

  Sighs of relief echoed throughout the vicinity. The bomb had malfunctioned, and other than the bomber, there had been no casualties. The dozen or so pedestrians nearby smiled and congratulated each other. They had escaped what seemed only seconds before to be a deadly situation.

  Sam smiled at Suteko who immediately held up her hand in a way that made his heart stop.

  Sam watched in helpless horror as an elderly man in a wheelchair who happened to be nearest to the old theater curled up and fell off his chair. Next was a woman; she fell dead almost as quickly.

  Sam watched, completely unable to do anything as the domino of bodies began to topple toward them.

  Chapter 24

  Suteko grabbed Sam’s shoulders and met his eyes. Her face stole his attention away from all distractions, from all the death around them. In a moment, if one can call it that, they were the only sentient beings. Sam heard a slight ringing in his ears—the tinnitus he’d had since childhood. He was otherwise surrounded by complete silence. The oddity of the silence struck him to his core. No street noises, no wind, no screams—just complete silence.

  Turning his head toward the source of the explosion, Sam saw in the distance one man in the process of falling over. The man appeared to be stuck, unable to move. He was, however, stuck in thin air; it was as if somewhere between beginning to fall and completing the fall, time had stopped.

  Agent Cobbs was a statue, his frozen lips in the process of hurling silent curses toward Sam and Suteko.

  Suteko moved to Cobbs and searched his pockets. Finding his keys, she removed the handcuffs from off of Sam. She walked in front of him and gently massaged his irritated wrists.

  “Sam,” she said in a soft voice that seemed extraordinarily loud within the context of the complete silence. “We need to leave.”

  “Leave? What’s going on? Why isn’t everyone moving?”

  “If you concentrate hard enough, you can sometimes experience a stronger encounter with eternity.”

  “You mean you can stop time?” Sam asked in childish wonderment. The world seemed so strange with no breeze, no human chatter, no birds singing—only that constant ringing in his ear told him that he was still alive.

  “No. Time continues within its proper context. We are merely visitors outside of time.”

  It made no sense to Sam, but at this point, Suteko could say, “up is down” and he would at least consider it possible.

  “Sam, we need to move. We were granted a stay, but time will pull us back like gravity. Help me carry Agent Cobbs. We must take him to safety.”

  Sam followed Suteko’s finger and positioned himself in front of the agent. Suteko gently nudged the agent forward. Cobb’s stiff body fell into Sam’s arms. Suteko, in a surprisingly quick motion, lifted Cobb’s legs. Sam caught the man’s weight, gripping his hands around the armpits. He was amazed how light the muscular and fully-grown man seemed. It was like carrying a plastic mannequin filled with air.

  “Quick. Away from the explosion area.”

  “Why not take a car?”

  “Things still caught up in time can’t move.”

  “We are moving Agent Cobbs, aren’t we?”

  “We are carrying Agent Cobbs. Now go, quickly!”

  Sam shifted his arms so he could face the direction he was moving. Agent Cobbs seemed to float in the air for half a second as Sam repositioned his grip. Once again, he marveled how light the man seemed. Had he become as strong as Suteko? Or was weight and gravity also subject to time?

  “Why are we helping the guy who is hunting us down?”

  “Did you not hear the Echoes just then? Agent Cobbs will help us stop the bombs.”

  “The bombs? You mean, ‘the bomb’ and it has already gone off.”

  “There are more.”

  “More? When were you going to tell me about this?”

  “If you had your ears open, you would have just heard the future Agent Cobbs tell us that.” Suteko composed herself, removing some of the edge from her voice. “This is the beginning, not the end.” She seemed to hurry her words as she hurried her feet. “There are more, Sam. There are more.”

  PART II

  Kaileen

  Chapter 25

  New Orleans

  Through the smoke—patches of which still hung thick in the air—a woman with long, curly blood-red hair strolled down the sidewalk as if she owned the city. On her feet were the finest pair of Prada high heels, blue suede and purchased at Saks Fifth Avenue with a credit card owned by a man who was now, sadly, deceased. Her oversized sunglasses and wrinkle-less face gave the false impression of a woman in her twenties; she had, however, the mien of a mature lady who knew what she wanted and was on the march to get it.

  The clack-clack of her heels reverberated off the glass storefronts. There were also sounds of coughing in the distance. She stepped over and around two bodies lying on the sidewalk. Only two? She had expected more. There were no cars around; the area had been more or less vacated. She heard sirens in the distance, but that would not be a threat; they would be long gone before the police arrived.

  She entered the building. Through the thick smoke—it was most potent there—she saw the outlines of McGregor, face down on the floor lying in a pool of his own blood.

  “Pitiful,” she said as she entered. Stepping across the room, she was careful to avoid planting her six-inch stiletto heels into the uneven valley of grout between the tiles. Reaching McGregor, she knelt down and turned him over. His cheeks were dirty and smudged by the blood; his eyes were shut, but she could hear the shallow breaths of a dying man.

  There were two blotches of red seeping through torn cloth indicating he had suffered two bullet wounds, one in his arm and one in his left shoulder. She unbuttoned his shirt, exposing the wounds.

  With her right hand, she reached for the knife strapped to her leg. A quick, shallow slice of the ulnar artery just below her left wrist began a blood flow that was quickly dammed by her supernatural healing abilities.

  With her right index finger as the brush, she used the palette of her left wrist to apply the red pigment to the bullet holes. Rubbing one of the entry points with the tip of her forefinger, her blood reacted with his to induce a sizzling sound and a mild smoky smell. After a few circular motions, she lifted her finger and moved to the next wound.

  The two bullet holes vanished, leaving only a trace of drying blood and grime from the floor. She finished by buttoning his shirt and adjusting his collar.

  With a swift motion, she scooped him up. His body seemed weightless as she flew across the room and out the door, twisting her torso to maneuver the body out head first.

  Once away from the smoke and death, she stopped at a bench and leaned over. She gently set him down so, other than a slumped head, he appeared to be sitting upright and waiting for a bus. A shallow breath was accompanied by a weak guttural groan.

  Hands flew to his cheeks and her mouth was an instant later attached to his. She began to breathe into the near corpse causing the chest to rise like an inflated balloon. He responded with a meager cough followed by a deep draw of breath. McGregor had a look of utter confusion, but he was alive.

  “Who...” A raspy cough prevented him from finishing the question.

  “Quiet. You have much work yet to do. But we are
pleased with your service so far.” Her voice was raspy, like an over-smoked torch singer just past her prime.

  McGregor remembered the events leading to what should have been his death.

  “But—there were guns—I was shot!” He felt his arm and his shoulder but he experienced no pain, not even the slightest discomfort. He felt better than he did during his college days, the last time he exercised regularly.

  “My colleague told you we would help you. You fulfilled your part and so have we.”

  The men—back at the apartment.

  “Show me your eyes!” McGregor’s voice was pure thirst, like that of a man suffering from sunstroke and stumbling toward an oasis in the distance.

  She smiled as her right hand grasped the frame of her sunglasses, peeling them off.

  McGregor was at a loss. Her eyes were beautiful, like the glittering sands of a pristine beach at twilight. Then came the stars. He gazed deeper, farther. The man at his apartment had also had stars, but these were more primal, more satisfying. McGregor couldn’t pull away even if he had wanted to—he was witnessing the birth of an angel.

  In the middle of a constellation, there was a woman. She was floating in space without any visible footing. McGregor couldn’t understand what was holding her up. He couldn’t see her feet and there was nothing but black beneath her. Her long, flowing white dress resembled a nineteenth century tea dress with its transparent yoke of chiffon over beautiful layers of silks and satins underneath. The rippling dress covered the area that should have been her feet.

  The angel leaned forward, arcing her head to reveal her eyes which were passionately locked on his. She appeared to be in motion, moving toward him. His heart fluttered in embarrassment and anticipation.

  Then she changed.

  Her face turned red. White light shot out of her eyes and into his, blinding all that he could see except what was in his extreme periphery.